


Temperature

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Universe, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fever, Glove Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Protective Kylo Ren, Sick Rey, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 05:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18614461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: "I think you might have a fever, Rey."





	Temperature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selunchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selunchen/gifts).



> Inspired by [this stunning art by Selunchen](https://twitter.com/selunchen/status/1121781932486848513). Not sure how to thank you for all that you do for the fandom, and for this amazing piece that made my day 😭💖
> 
> (Sorry for the unbeta'd fic!)

 

She doesn’t even let him finish the sentence. He barely manages to get the first two words out _—'You look—'_ —and Rey’s already sitting up in bed and blurting out, “I’m fine.”

A little more sharply than he probably deserves, if she’s honest with herself. Which she has no intention of being at the moment— _Because. She. Is. Not. Sick_.—but still. She smiles at Kylo, weak and apologetic, and sends a pulse of something warm and reassuring through the bond.

He just studies her calmly and cocks his head.

“You were fine, this morning.”

It’s true. She really had been fine this morning. She’d felt just splendid at the crack of dawn, on her daily run under the Massassi trees, and then an hour later, when Kylo had woken up and joined her to practice a few forms. She’d been peachy as she'd handed him a mug of caf and pressed a kiss into his jaw, and while watching him head to the temple to work with a new group of force-sensitive kids. She’d been mostly fine all morning, as she'd worked on that new engine prototype and tried to figure out how to best integrate the repulsorlifts.

She had been just  _great_. And then, just a couple of hours earlier, the unheard-of had happened.

Rey had felt the uncharacteristic urge to go lie down in bed. To take a _nap_. A long, soul-crushing nap that had swallowed her whole, and she hadn’t been able to drag herself out of it until she’d heard the front door open and Kylo’s familiar, reassuring steps as he made his way through the house.

Rey never, never,  _never_ naps. Never.

He'd probably thought she’d died.

“I was. Fine, I mean. And I still am.” She smiles wider, and her cheeks hurt. _Everything_ hurts. “Isn’t that amazing?”

Kylo just stares at her, unblinking. “Yes. Truly astounding.”

“Yeah, well.” Rey shrugs, and rubs the heel of her hand in her eyes. Her palm feels cold and clammy. The rest of her is a furnace. “Aren’t I lucky.”

“Very.” Kylo nods, somber. “Did you know that there are drugs, for people who are _lucky_ like you?”

Rey stiffens. “I don’t—”

“We have some of them in this very house. In that bathroom over there.” He points towards the en suite. “Stuff that works well and quickly, and that will make you feel less _lucky_ in just a few hours.”

“I—Cool. But I don’t need to take them because—”

“Because you’re fine. Of course.” Kylo leans against the doorjamb and crosses his arms on his chest. He is smiling, now. The bastard. “So, what is this, precisely?”

Rey looks around, and her head swims a little. _Fuck_. “What is what? The bedroom? I don’t know what you are—”

“The blatant denial, Rey. Is this another one of your things? Like ranking models of Starfighters while you're under the shower, or waking up in the middle of the night cycle to eat?” He says it in a fond tone that would probably warm her up inside, if she weren’t already scorching hot. Revoltingly so.

“I get _hungry_. And I’m not in denial.”

“Mmm.” He sounds dismissive as he steps inside the room, giving her his back as he takes off his dark gray tunic and strips down to the muscle shirt he has underneath. It’s black, identical to the one Rey's wearing now—the one she pulled on before she crawled into bed for this useless, ridiculous nap, because it smelled like him and all she wanted was to have him here, solid, wrapped around her—

“Is it that you’re embarrassed?” He doesn’t even bother taking off his gloves, or looking at her as he sets his lightsaber on the dresser and begins to clean it. Just some basic, run-of-the-mill maintenance; precise, economic movements that speak of a lifetime of daily discipline. Kylo will always be a soldier, Rey has come to realize. “But no. You wouldn’t be, would you?” His tone is quiet as he tries to puzzle Rey out. Inquisitive. “You let me hold your hair back, when Jannah gave you that bottle of Corellian whiskey and you didn’t know to pace yourself.” He blows a speck of dust off the stabilizing ring, then lifts his head to look ahead, out of the window. Beyond the vegetable garden and the still water of their pond, towards the light playing hide and seek in the greens and browns of Yavin IV.

He is… touching Rey. Through the bond. Not probing, not pushing, just—a touch. His usual presence in her head.

She has come to think of it as Kylo’s version of holding hands.

“So maybe you’re just scared?”

He turns around after a few seconds of silence, when it’s clear that Rey is not going give him an answer; and _why,_ she is not going to give him an answer.

The thing is—on Jakku, being sick meant a bunch of— _a lot of_ —unpleasantly foul things that Rey doesn’t care to think about, at the moment. Because being sick was not an option on Jakku, no sir, and the drugs Kylo speaks of were not available, and the only thing one could do if they were ill was…

Not be ill.

Pretty simple.

And Kylo, maybe he knows. Because he nods as if he understands, and there’s an edge of tenderness in his eyes now. But barely there, and short lived. Patting each other’s back, talking through their feelings, commiserating—that’s not what Kylo and Rey do. Not how this works. So she’s not surprised, when he turns away for a moment to pour a glass of water and then comes to set it on Rey’s bedside table with a light thud.

And she’s not surprised when he bends down, leans against the bed until he's effectively caging her with his arms, and then says:

“You don’t have to be scared.” He doesn’t even sound reassuring. Nor kind. He states it bluntly, like the fact that he believes it to be. And maybe he’s right. “Not anymore.”

He kisses her forehead first, if that’s even a kiss; then her temple, and then it’s a barely-audible whisper in her ear—' _My sand rat. You’re glowing.'_ —and a swipe of his tongue down the side of her throat.

“Kylo. What are you doing?”

He’s taking off her shirt. _His_ shirt. Well— _their_ shirt. Since Leia nagged them into getting married, and this is a community property galaxy. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because the shirt is off now, and Rey’s naked, and—

It’s sublime, the cool breeze on her skin. He must have opened the window while she wasn’t looking, which seems unlikely, but… she has been so tired, today. So groggy. Like her brain couldn’t quite wake up, and—she really must be half asleep, _still_ , because now he’s biting her softly right next to her belly button, sucking her skin between his lips.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart.”

“What are you…” She can’t keep upright anymore. And her eyes—she has to close them. She has to let go. “What are you doing, Kylo?”

“Just checking your temperature.”

In her cunt. Apparently, checking her temperature involves licking up and down her cunt, and then around her clit, and then inside of her and further down, near that other hole that he’s been trying to get her to—

“I think you might have a fever, Rey” he says, voice muffled against her skin.

Rey is shaking. Her hands, her legs, her lips—she is shuddering. Contracting around nothing.

“Don’t worry.” He slides a finger inside, still gloved; just one, and it’s already too much. She clenches around him and arches up, and she feels him grunt immediately—so familiar to her, after all the nights they have spent together in this bed; after all the fights, side by side. “I’ll make you feel better.”

“How is this… How is this supposed to make me feel…?”

“Not this.” His teeth graze her clit and—oh. Oh, oh, _oh_ , he can’t suck on her like that. There will be nothing left. “This is for me. But I’ll give you drugs later.” A lick. “Make some soup.”

He needs to be _faster_. Rey knows that he can be, because sometimes—sometimes he goes faster. Though other times, times like this one, he just grips her ass and keeps her still and then goes at his own pace for _hours_ , and she already felt hot before, but now she is melting, she is liquid pouring over his huge hands, and—

She can see it, the way he’s pumping his hips against the mattress, like he does when he needs more friction. Like he’s getting _close_. So when she tries to push her clit, her entire cunt against his tongue, and he just huffs out a laugh and pulls back to bite the inside of her thigh…

She may be sick, but not _that_ sick. She throws the bond open and slams her pleasure into him, every single ounce of it, and—Kylo has no idea, _no idea_ how to bear the things he makes her suffer through on a daily basis. No idea.

He comes first, loud groans buried in her cunt as he grinds his cock against the soft sheets, and the echoes of it reverberate through the bond until it floods Rey, a crashing wave that sweeps over her and…

Maybe it _does_ make her feel better.

Maybe Kylo was right all along.

There is a warm, wet patch between them, when he settles back against the pillow and pulls Rey on top of himself. It’s not unpleasant though, so Rey burrows into him and listens to the sounds of his heart as it quiets inside his chest.

It matches hers, to perfection.

“Soup?” he asks, playing with a wisp of hair that must have escaped her lowest bun.

Yes. _Soup_. It sounds delicious.

“It’s not so bad, maybe.”

“My soup is excellent, ingrate,” he tells her mildly, and Rey smiles in the crook of his neck.

“I meant, being sick. Maybe it’s not _so_  bad.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoReylo)


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